


The 13th of Frostfall

by banjotea



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blood Magic, Bondage, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mephala - Freeform, Morag Tong, Multi, Orgy, Power Dynamics, Rituals, Romance, Self-Harm, Smut, blindfold, blowjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23647435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banjotea/pseuds/banjotea
Summary: “During the ceremony, the newest member, if there is one, is to be rendered up to Mephala in a sacred ritual. You would be bound and blindfolded before the shrine. Every member would offer you their pleasure in turn, and at last your entry will be consummated. This role is performed by the Grandmaster.”In which Rels learns one of the implications of serving the Daedric Prince of Murder, Sex, and Secrets. Too bad he's also falling in love.AU, unrelated to the main story!
Relationships: Eno Hlaalu/Rels Llethri, Morag Tong/Morag Tong, Rels Llethri/Morag Tong
Comments: 19
Kudos: 51





	1. The Offering

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a purely self-indulgent AU story that I'm writing in between planning/outlining the actual sequel to Honorbound. It has nothing to do with the main story!

“Brother Llethri, are you going to join the ceremony for Mephala’s Summoning day?” Ulmesi asked Rels. The Morag Tong sat around the dinner table in Vivec. It was the first of Frostfall, and writs had been slow recently. 

Rels put down his forkful of scuttle and looked up at her. “There’s a ceremony?”

Ulmesi nodded, holding her glass. “Oh yes, every year. And since it’s your first year, it would be traditional to put you in the center, as a sort of offering. It’s entirely up to you, though. I waited a few years myself.”

“In the center of what?” All six of them were looking at him. 

Thinker Dathren, the monk in charge of the shrine, cleared his throat and spoke up. “The Morag Tong, as the child of Mephala, incorporates every aspect of the domain, in both subtle and violent forms. Most of what we do is subtle murder, what we normally call assassination. This forms the core of our order, but we are devoted to all other aspects of the Webspinner as well.”

“It’s an orgy, all right?” Dral broke in. The monk glared at him. “What? We’d be here all night if nobody said anything.”

Rels felt his eyes widen as he looked around the table. “...You have orgies?” His eyes rested on Rogdul the Orc, and he swallowed. 

Rogdul noticed and chuckled. “Don’t worry, kid, I don’t bite. I know I’m a lot to handle.”

The Grandmaster folded his gloved hands on the table, and everybody turned to listen to him. “During the ceremony, the newest member, if there is one, is to be rendered up to Mephala in a sacred ritual. You would be bound and blindfolded before the shrine. Every member would offer you their pleasure in turn, and at last your entry will be consummated. This role is performed by the Grandmaster.”

“Oh.” Oh. Six people. Five men, and one woman. The Grandmaster. “And...why would I be blindfolded?”

“The better to hear the whispers,” answered Thinker Dathren. 

“It’s all right if you prefer to wait,” said Ulmesi again. “We all did it sooner or later, but you don’t need to do it this time.”

“I...need to think about it.”

It was all Rels could think about for the next several days. He had until the 13th of Frostfall to decide, and he spent more time than usual sitting at the dining table with a drink and a book, glancing furtively over the pages at each member whenever they passed by.

Ulmesi, as the only woman, was an easy decision. Even if he wasn’t particularly interested in her otherwise, Rels was sure he could find something to enjoy about her body, if she offered it. She wasn’t elderly. Her breasts were tightly covered by armor, but he could see the curve of something over her chest. She also had long, slender legs. Altogether not objectionable. 

Taros Dral had a fine figure. If he kept his mouth shut. Rogdul… At least he wouldn’t impose himself too much. Selkin-Adda, the resident mage, was reclusive. His face was too sharp to be attractive, though. Not that it would matter, Rels reminded himself. He’d be wearing a blindfold, after all. Thinker Dathren had a kind face and gentle demeanor. If nothing else, if he was involved, it might help him relax a little. But these were all minor participants.

That left Eno Hlaalu. Rels set down his drink and ran his hands through his hair. That man. He was hypnotizing. Even without the prospect of sex, there had always been something. Not attraction, but...fascination. Rels wanted to understand him. Since being promoted to Brother, Rels wasn’t afraid of the Grandmaster anymore, but it was undeniable that he captured the room as soon as he entered it. 

He needed to think some more.

A day later, Rels was summoned for a writ. He went upstairs to Eno Hlaalu’s room to find him rolling up a piece of paper. Rels stood in the doorway, watching the gloved fingers do their careful work. They rolled it into a tight scroll and then bound it in delicate twine with the deft mastery of years condemning people to an honorable end. Rels bit his lip. If he was this professional creating a writ, how stunning must it be to witness him carry one out?

“Hello, Brother.” Rels jumped. “This writ is for Clagius Valodius in Ebonheart. He is staying at the tavern. Slay him honorably.”

He handed Rels the writ and locked eyes with him. Rels’ mind went blank. He looked at the calm expression, arching brow, sloping jaw, distinctive hair—

Rels turned away and left. He was probably walking too quickly. No, too slowly. Heel to toe. Heel to toe. 

Ebonheart.

Tavern.

Rels was halfway up the ladder to the trapdoor before he realized he hadn’t said a word in response. “N’chow,” he muttered.

The writ was easy. Clagius Valodius had been drunk at a table, and it hadn’t taken much prodding to lure him outside for a brawl, which Rels had won easily with his ebony dagger. It had given Rels particular pleasure to show the Imperial guard his writ after killing one of their own. They’d told him never to come back to Ebonheart, but Rels knew from experience that all Dunmer looked the same to outlanders.

The road from Ebonheart back to Vivec was bathed in the setting sun, peaceful and quiet. Coming home from a writ always gave Rels time to think.

Mephala’s Summoning was only a few days away. Was he ready this year? Did he want this?

What would Eno Hlaalu do to him?

Possibilities buzzed through his mind. Bound and blindfolded, there was only so much that Rels could be expected to do.

Yes, he wanted it.

But as his heart raced in the cool evening air, he realized something. He would only be doing this once. Just like everyone else.

They’d all done it. Hot embarrassment crept up his cheeks. It was pointless to think about this so much. It wouldn’t mean anything to the Grandmaster. And it would only make things harder if Rels imagined it might. He would have to be careful. But he could do it.

He would do it.

Mephala’s Summoning began late at night. The shrine was adorned with bouquets of nightshade, and the room was lit with eight red candles, which cast an eerie glow on the sandstone walls. The prayer cushions were arranged around the shrine in a circle, except for one directly in front of it. Rels looked at it with trepidation.

Everybody stood around the room in silence. Thinker Dathren was behind the shrine, watching them all. The Grandmaster stood next to him. Rels was at the opposite end of the room, feeling naked in the black robe they had given him to wear.

Thinker Dathren waved him forward. Rels stepped out into the middle of the group and stopped. It was time to begin. He swallowed and pulled a strip of black cloth from the robe pocket and tied it over his eyes. The room went dark. All he could hear was his own breathing and the breathing of everyone around him. 

Somebody approached him and untied his robe before sliding it off his shoulders, then binding his hands together behind his back. As it happened, he heard the sounds of cloth rustling. Everyone was undressing. At least he wouldn’t be the only one.

He jumped when a smooth hand caressed his shoulder. It ran down his back, around his side, and up his chest, fingers splayed, reaching. Another hand joined it. He felt soft breath on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath through parted lips. This could be Ulmesi. His guess was confirmed when she pressed up against his back. Body flush with his, she dragged her hands back down to grasp the sides of his hips. Rels leaned his head back onto her shoulder. This really wasn’t so bad.

Another, larger hand rested on his exposed throat and slid slowly down to his stomach. He had no idea who this could be. It didn’t matter. The hand went down lower, into his hair, and lower. Rels licked his lips, feeling his blood begin to pool under the hand. Ulmesi pushed his head back up to begin kissing his shoulder. 

Before Rels could react, another set of hands joined. Then another. The attention was overwhelming. There were touches, soft and firm, on his chest, his biceps, his hips, his thighs… He felt teeth on the back of his neck. He was hard now. Somebody was pulling him in long, steady strokes. He’d never dreamed of so much sensation at once.

Body heat surrounded him on all sides. He thought he might lose his balance, but the press of hands and chests kept him upright. The deep breathing to his right could have been Rogdul. Ulmesi was still behind him, trailing her fingers down to his bottom. She squeezed hard, making Rels wince in pleasure. 

The hand disappeared for a moment, then returned slicked with oil. Thin fingers slipped between his cheeks and massaged his entrance there. Rels tightened, hyperaware of the new sensation. One finger pushed in. He tried to relax. A second finger joined the first. He felt his breathing grow faster. The fingers twitched back and forth, and Rels felt his back arch.

The large hand on his erection let go, and he held back a whimper. Was he not allowed to finish yet? How long would this go on?

The fingers began thrusting in and out. He pushed back against them, mourning the loss of friction from the larger hand. Kisses from several mouths trailed all over his chest, stomach, arms, and neck. One masculine mouth went up as far as his jaw, and Rels felt rough stubble brush his neck. He raised his head, allowing better access. 

He could get used to this.

One by one, the mouths pulled away, and Ulmesi slowly withdrew her slick fingers. Somebody guided him farther forward, then pressed down on his shoulders. Rels obeyed, and found the central prayer cushion under his knees. His heart pounded.

It was time.

It wasn’t personal. This was the Grandmaster’s duty to Mephala. It would never happen again. This was his only chance to experience it. Maybe...he wouldn’t like it. Maybe Rels would be glad when it was over.

He heard the swish of a sash being removed in front of his face. He trembled. A leather gloved hand caressed his temple, fingers threading into his hair. The hand pulled his head back to make him face upwards. Rels was being inspected. He licked his lips, grateful for the blindfold. He didn’t want his eyes to give away why he was still so hard.

Something warm rested on his lower lip. His mind was on fire. This was it. He reached out with his tongue, but only managed to touch the smooth skin for an instant before the hand in his hair pulled him back again. 

Don’t move.

Rels’ mouth was watering. He resisted the urge to squirm and pout. He could do this. 

His breathing grew heavier as the tip dragged along the line of his bottom lip, then back across the top. Testing his resolve. 

He tried to take it in his mouth again, and he was pulled away again. It was a struggle to stay silent.

The velvety shaft pressed against the side of his face, pulsing gently. It moved to his other cheek, bouncing off his nose. It was pointless trying to hide his desperation now.

Please, Rels mouthed. The Grandmaster finally obliged. The hand loosened, and Rels was free to wrap his tongue around the tip, tasting the delicate skin. He sighed in pleasure and ran his tongue slowly down to the base, savoring the texture. He explored any veins he found, leading back up to the head. He had to learn everything he could. It was his only chance. He took it into his mouth slowly, memorizing the size and taste. 

When he began to suck, he heard an exhale of breath above him. Heat flooded his body at the sound. He ached. 

He struggled weakly against his bonds. He wanted to take the blindfold off. It drove him mad not being able to see what was in front of him. Not being able to see Eno Hlaalu’s response to him.

He couldn’t help it. He moaned.

The fingers curled tighter into his hair, pulling the moan out longer. The hips began to thrust gently into his mouth, and Rels moved with them. He didn’t want it to end. Everything he knew in the world was in his mouth.

Mephala, let this happen again.

The movement slowed down, and it pulled back out. Rels let his mouth hang open, tasting the empty air. Someone behind him lifted him under the shoulders, and he tottered to his feet. The cool hands pushed him forward again, until he bumped into the cold stone altar. He hissed at its icy touch on his hips. 

Then a gloved hand bent him down over it. His breath hitched in anticipation as the side of his face touched the cloth surface. His hands were still bound at the wrists behind his back, and he splayed his fingers, hoping to find something. 

He felt like an offering now.

Something slick touched his entrance. He relaxed, inviting it in. As the Grandmaster began to push all the way in, Rels opened his mouth wide, face still pressed into the surface of the altar. Yes, he breathed.

Please, Mephala.


	2. The Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to LyleSnake for his help!!

It was the next day. Rels hurried into the only private place in the entire guildhall: the commode. It was small and cramped, but the chamberpot was mercifully empty, and when he shut the heavy red curtain behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He leaned against the wall, reached into his pants, pulled out his aching erection, and began stroking it. Just one look from Eno Hlaalu this morning had had him running. 

Rels let his mind wander. That taste. The hand in his hair. The sound of breathing. Fingers inside him. The fullness. He wondered how it would feel to kiss the man on the lips. How their breathing would sound mingled so close together. How it would feel to run his own hands through that long, beautiful hair. Feel their legs moving together.

He was hopeless.

He had to move his hand slowly, or it would make noise. He wrapped it tighter, and felt his balls begin to clench—

“Brother Reeels!” Dral’s sing-song voice sounded from just behind the curtain. “Is that you in there?”

Every muscle in Rels’ body stiffened in frustration. “What.”

“Oh, nothing...” A beat. “You know, you put on quite the show last night. If I’d known you liked cock so much...”

“Go. Away.” He let go. He was soft again.

“Ohh, I see how it is. You only want that one, don’t you? Well good luck with that, Brother. If you ever want to suck a cock that’s actually available, you know where to find me.”

“Leave me alone!”

“You don’t outrank me yet, Master’s pet. I still gotta take a shit.”

Rels sighed and tucked himself back into his pants, then left the closet, bumping his shoulder into Dral as he passed. Dral laughed.

Actually available. He’d fuck a slaughterfish before he fucked Dral. Outside of the ritual, anyway.

Rels had a problem now. A very big problem. He needed to get over the Grandmaster.

Rels was reading. Or trying to. His half-eaten bread sat on a plate next to his book. Eating was difficult when he couldn’t stop thinking of putting something else into his mouth. Reading was impossible. Instead he stared down at the page in a haze. 

“You look troubled, Brother.” Ulmesi sat down next to him at the table. Rels sat up straighter and blinked a few times to clear his head.

“I’m all right.” The lie was obvious, but he didn’t know her well enough to confide in her.

Ulmesi folded her arms on the edge of the table, looking concerned. “Is it about last night? It seemed to go well for you.”

“It did. I’m all right.” 

She sighed and gave a small smile. “I can see you don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine. Maybe what you need is some bloodshed. That will bring you back.”

Rels bit his lip. A writ would be just the thing to sober him. But he could only get writs from Eno Hlaalu here.

He was being stupid. All of the members had had to do this. They didn’t let it get in the way of their duties. 

But they weren’t falling—No, he wasn’t either.

“You’re right,” he said, standing up. “I have work to do.”

“Mephala guide your hand, Brother.”

He marched up to the Grandmaster’s room. His heart was not pounding. His breathing was steady. He was calm. Professional.

Rels entered the room, and their eyes met again. He wondered what the Grandmaster was thinking about behind that quiet, focused gaze. 

“Grandmaster. I was wondering if any writs were open.”

Eno Hlaalu’s eyes lingered for a second before turning to the writs at his desk. “There are. In fact, we receive the most writs just after the Summoning. There are two of them in Seyda Neen, but one is especially difficult.” His eyes came back to Rels. “I think we should execute them together. It is an opportunity for training.”

The room felt warm. Together? “Yes, Grandmaster.”

“Very good. We leave at eight.”

The wait was agonizing. It had taken Rels ten minutes to don his armor, and another five to check his bag. Three times. Dinner took twenty minutes. And he still had three hours left. He took five minutes to masturbate in private, hoping it would calm him down. It didn’t.

By eight o’clock, Rels was thoroughly convinced it was going to be a disaster. He was going to botch his kill, or get an obvious erection, or both, and the Grandmaster would be disgusted with him.

Rels was sitting on a bench in the front room, twisting his gloved fingers, when Eno Hlaalu emerged, dressed the same as normal. As though going for a walk. Rels stood up and followed him up the trapdoor in silence.

As they climbed the stairs, Rels hung back to watch him walk. He’d never noticed they were the same height. Maybe Rels was even a little bit taller. It never seemed like it in headquarters, where the Grandmaster commanded the very air they breathed. Rels stared at the drape of his red robe, searching for the curve of his back as it moved fluidly through Vivec. His eyes trailed farther down.

Inappropriate.

Focus on something else.

“Why didn’t you bring armor?” he asked when nobody was nearby. “Didn’t you say the writ would be difficult?”

Eno Hlaalu turned to look at him, expression calm. “If I am ever in a position to require armor, it is already too late.”

Rels’ jaw hung open at the answer as he struggled to come up with something to say. There was nothing. He couldn’t imagine the pressure of that sort of position, or the skill it required. This might turn out to be good training after all. If he didn’t do anything stupid.

He was out of his depth here.

They walked to Seyda Neen. The night was chilly. The wind blew Eno Hlaalu’s robes flush against his body, and his long ponytail waved like an elegant black banner in the night. Rels didn’t notice the cold at all. His occasional sighs were covered by the rushing of the air in their ears.

He took care of a few hostile animals on the way, while the Grandmaster watched his form.

“Show me how you hold the dagger to cut a throat,” he said once Rels was finished with an Alit.

Rels held up his dagger in front of his face, as though to an invisible neck.

Eno Hlaalu stepped closer to him and took his hand to adjust his fingers. Rels watched with wide eyes, reveling in the contact. “It is not a dinner knife, Brother. Spread your grip more evenly along the handle to have better control. You will feel the difference.”

Their eyes met over their hands. Rels swallowed and lowered the dagger. “All right. I will.”

Rels watched him pull out his own glass dagger with the same relaxed grip, then spin it in one flick so that it pointed inward, toward his chest. “It also allows you to attack with greater versatility from behind. Try.”

It took a moment to rearrange his fingers correctly, and he nearly dropped it when he tried to spin it in his hand. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks as he failed a second attempt. It was difficult to concentrate. He tried a few more times, and succeeded at last. He smiled in triumph and looked back up at the Grandmaster.

The corners of his mouth tightened in a small smile. The first Rels had ever seen on him. “Practice.” 

Rels’ heart fluttered, and he looked away. “Yes, Grandmaster.”

They continued along the road. Seyda Neen glowed in the light of torches and the flickering lighthouse on the shore. They saw the silt strider first over the glint in the water. Inky black imperial buildings blocked the light in the center of town, so they hung around the outside, sticking to the shadows. Rels’ writ was for a Bosmer living in one of the cottages, Engildir. He slipped behind the correct house, leaving Eno Hlaalu to watch from afar.

Rels was glad he’d be doing this alone. Killing was never fun, and it would sober him enough to handle the rest of their outing without making even more of a fool of himself. The house was silent, the occupant most likely asleep. He avoided looking in the window, as it was brighter outside than in. He stood behind the back corner of the house, listening for activity in any direction. A guard was patrolling the road, clinking armor growing fainter, torch crackling. Nobody was facing the house.

He shimmied the window open with a spare knife. He stopped every few seconds to listen again. When nothing moved inside the house, he climbed through the window and dropped onto the floor. The floor was wooden boards, prone to creaking. 

A female Bosmer was sleeping in a bed across the room. She looked tiny, vulnerable. Rels wondered how she had gotten herself a writ. But he’d heard stories about Bosmer. They weren’t to be underestimated. He approached on tiptoe.

Engildir was lying on her back, facing the ceiling. Rels held his breath as he raised his dagger to strike. 

She opened her pure black eyes, saw him, and shot up in the bed, opening her mouth to scream. Rels rushed forward to grab her mouth from behind. He felt her small sharp teeth sink into his glove as he sliced her throat. He ripped away his hand and shook it out, cursing. Engildir slumped to the side until her head leaned on the wall. Rels looked away from the twitching, gurgling mess, as always. It felt disrespectful to stare while a stranger died. At least it was done.

He left from the window and shut it behind him. Eno Hlaalu was there beside the house. Rels nodded once at him and they moved on.

To the tradehouse. Up to the front door. 

“Come in. We will rent a room.”

Lightning shot through Rels’ stomach. “We—What?”

“It’s not yet time. We might as well rest comfortably.” The Grandmaster’s face betrayed nothing, and Rels used everything he had to appear calm.

He was being an idiot. Nothing was going to happen. They were on the job. Nothing should happen. It couldn’t happen. It was never personal. It was behind them. It happened to all of them. It was nothing. It was nothing. Never again. Distance.

Rels kept his head down as they entered the tradehouse and went up the stairs to the counter. His stomach hurt. It felt as though he were parading naked through the building, radiating his thoughts to every patron there. Eno Hlaalu strode up to the woman at the counter, asked for a room, and took the key the same way he did everything else: calmly, deliberately, masterfully. Rels bit his tongue at the thought. How could that be masterful? He must be going insane.

They stepped into the small rented room. It was too small for two people. Rels stood rigidly by the door and waited to hear that his panic was unfounded and that he was thinking too much about this. The Grandmaster sat on a chair across from the bed and looked back at him.

“Take the bed. I will take watch while you rest. My target will be accessible in about four hours.”

Rels walked to the bed and set down his bag. Take watch. Of course. It was only reasonable. They were working. It was dangerous. “Why did we leave so early, if yours wasn’t until morning?”

“Your writ was simpler, but better executed at night. I needed to be here in the early morning, and I wanted to allow for the possibility of incidents on the road, or complications with your kill. But you did well. Sleep.”

“She bit me.” Rels didn’t want to sleep. Today was special. It felt unreal to be here with him, sharing this time alone. His chest hurt. This probably wasn’t going to happen again either.

“Did she break the skin?”

Rels blinked several times and pulled off his gloves to inspect his hand. “No, just damaged the glove.”

“Good. Be careful with Bosmer.”

He didn’t want to let the conversation end yet, but couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make him sound like he was stalling. He turned to the bed and began removing his armor, wondering if he was being watched. But why would he be? Rels wasn’t anything special. Just another Morag Tong member who needed training. 

Which way should he face on the bed?

Curiosity won out, so he decided to face the room instead of the wall. Slipping under the blanket, he forced his eyes to the floor before closing them. He wasn’t tired. It was going to be a long night of pretending to sleep. He waited several breaths, then peeked between his eyelashes at the Grandmaster. He was resting his gloved hands on his knees and watching the door. Rels took in how his robe fell over his thighs, taut at the knee, then pooled around his ankles. Rels missed the feeling of those gloves pulling his hair. This wasn’t good.

He turned to face the wall to hide his erection better. The rough wall texture was ugly comfort to his eyes. Even without his desire, he still didn’t like to sleep in taverns. He knew how easy it was to target someone inside… And he had just killed someone in their own bed. It was by no means a safe place to be. But then again, if Rels could be safe sleeping anywhere, it was here, under Eno Hlaalu’s watch. Against his will, warmth spread through his chest. It was true. He felt safe with him. 

He hadn’t felt this safe with anyone...aside from his family. His family that weren’t safe with him. Especially…

But Eno Hlaalu understood that too. Perhaps better than anyone.

“Brother. Wake up.”

Rels jerked awake at the voice. What time was it? He yawned in the darkness and turned to see a silhouette standing next to the bed. They were in Seyda Neen. It was time for the next writ. He had to observe. Then they would go home. And it would be over.

Eno Hlaalu lit a candle on the table, and Rels groggily put on his armor. Somehow it felt more intimate than the ceremony had, getting dressed in silence in the dim light. When they left the tradehouse, the first haze of dawn was in the air, and everything was still in the misty morning. 

The entrance to the tradehouse was in the back of the building, so they hopped down the veranda to the ground and followed the outskirts of the town by the shacks. The Grandmaster was more silent than Rels could ever manage, as though his feet never even touched the ground. It was beautiful to watch. He held up a gloved hand telling Rels to wait, then proceeded forward.

The Grandmaster approached a heavily armored Imperial, then stopped several paces away, behind a tree. A branch snapped faintly. The guard turned, paused, and walked over to the tree. The Grandmaster came around the other side and slashed his throat from behind, then grabbed his head and pulled the flailing guard behind the tree again, both hands covering his nose and mouth. Rels could see the guard’s panic, the way his blood shot out in faster, increasingly erratic spurts. The Grandmaster pinned the guard’s head firmly to his chest, waiting for his life to fade. 

It took strength to hold a dying man by the head and stay still. Rels didn’t think he could do it. His heart was pounding as he watched. How would it feel to be held against that chest? With a glove on his mouth? Helpless at his hands?

“That was a captain of the Legion. It was essential that he die quickly, with no witnesses.” They were leaving the town now, their writs delivered, in the direction of the sunrise.

Rels watched the Inner Sea lapping at the muddy shore. It was Azura’s hour, and Mephala seemed to have given him her answer.


	3. The Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to LyleSnake and Thanatopsiturvy for their help!

“Brother Llethri. Thinker Ulmesi has told me you seem distracted since the Summoning.”

Fire flashed in Rels’ face when Thinker Dathren brought up that night. It had been here, in front of the shrine, where Rels was now kneeling on a prayer cushion. Sitting with his thoughts. Looking busy.

He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

Thinker Dathren knelt on the cushion next to him. “It is clear that your mind is tangled in something. Perhaps you’d like to talk about it. It is part of my duty to provide counsel to my fellow servants.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Secrets are a way of life for ones such as we. If you don’t wish to tell me, I can still help you.” Rels turned to look at him. “There is a ritual for servants with doubts and trepidation, if you are interested.”

“What does that involve?” Hopefully not another orgy. Not another reminder that his hopes were pointless.

“The ritual requires a period of reflection, and subsequently a small blood sacrifice. If done correctly, you may receive the favor of insight from Mephala.”

Rels looked over at his calm, gentle face. That was strange. He’d never sacrificed blood for his insights…

“Is that the only way to get insight? With blood and a ritual?”

“No… It is simply the easiest method, best suited for the initiate.”

“What are the other ways?”

“There are some who are better attuned to the Web, who may commune with Mephala without the use of a ritual, but it is a matter of speculation whether blood must be taken. I myself tend to think that it must be, at one point or another, and only the timing may be obscured to us. In my experience, blood must be paid in the end for the gift of secrets, no matter the method of communion. Why do you ask? Has it happened to you before?”

Rels looked down at his hands. He didn’t realize he’d been picking his fingernails, so he stopped. “I think so.” Balmora rose in his mind, a rainy scene as clear as the room before him. He could see the raindrops splashing in the polluted river, could almost see the outline of something beneath the water. He shook his head to clear his mind.

“And did you pay with blood?”

A shard of ice slipped into his stomach as he realized that he had. He leaned forward, running his hands over his scalp, massaging away the memory of Ald-ruhn. He had enough problems right now. Couldn’t he be left alone?

“I think you should try the ritual, Brother. Using your own blood is always easier.”

“...All right. How do I do it?”

Later that night, Rels stood alone in the room, dressed in a loose black robe. He’d spent the evening wiping down the altar with a rag, and his mind was here. The cool stone floor was reassuring on his bare feet, and he was ready to begin.

On the altar stood a candle, four bowls of ash, and an empty silver bowl. In each mound of ash there was a stick of incense, the lingering power of the ancestors. Whoever they were. Surely not his own. He’d chosen his ebony dagger for the sacrifice, and it lay before the silver bowl, half blending into the darkness of the room. 

He knelt down. As he did, his hair swung forward, in front of his face. It was getting past his chin now. He brushed it back and closed his eyes.

What did he fear?

A muddy haze of images pressed in on his eyelids. The creaking of a bowstring. The swirl of ashy winds. Volcanic rock. The crinkle of parchment in his hand. The rush of wind through ragged clothes. The splatter of blood on his face. Did he fear these things? They were all behind him.

He listened to his breathing. Felt the stream of air rushing up and out his nostrils. The spicy aroma of incense followed the air back down into his lungs. A hole was opening up between himself and the floor. He could feel the waters of life cradling the floating canton around him.

Eno Hlaalu. What about him? What was there to fear? He was a dangerous man. But he cared about Rels. He knew it. What a night it had been between them. If something was there, what should he fear? If it was nothing, would it really be any worse than the past? Turning Rels away. Staring at him with contempt. Pity. Fear. This was familiar. This had been his life before returning to Vivec. Could he handle that again? This was his fear. It sat in his gut. Corroding.

He sat with the fear. Looked at it. It was uncomfortable. He wanted to look away. He held the ball of fear in place, and gathered his strength.

He rose, opening his eyes. The dagger was before him, and he took it. In its delicate heft he recognized the Grandmaster. It had been a gift from him. He pushed aside his robe, showing the skin of his thigh. He pressed the blade into his flesh, breathing faster as the skin was slit open. His blood was black in the dim candlelight, and he let it dribble onto the side of his dagger. It pooled into a precarious puddle, which he raised to the altar. It dripped, a series of tiny splats, into the silver bowl. More blood trickled down the front of his leg, but he ignored it.

With this blade, consecrated in blood, I release my fear. 

Mephala guide my hand.

The room grew even darker. He knew, then, that Mephala’s presence was nothing new. He’d never been without it. Even as a child, his path had always been leading him to this moment. And it was not the static fate of prophecy, but the active guidance of the Spider. Wherever he went, it was always where he needed to go. This was his purpose.

He placed the dagger on the altar and knelt down again. Behind his closed eyes, he looked at his ball of fear. It didn’t struggle anymore. He held it still, a few moments longer. Then threw it away.

He counted ten deep breaths, savoring the incense. Then stood, extinguished the candle, and took the bowl away.

Rels woke up late the next morning. He was groggy, and the smell of incense lingered in his hair. He needed to bathe. He slid out of bed, ate breakfast, and went outside for a wash. The Grandmaster wasn’t around.

As he walked back to the guildhall, now feeling clean and awake, he searched his mind for what he was afraid of. He pictured Eno Hlaalu shaking his head, curling his lip. If it came to that...he could survive. Life would go on. Maybe it would even help Rels get over him once and for all. Maybe it would even be for the best.

And shouldn’t he at least try? He didn’t even know why anymore. It was a fact of his existence now: every minute away from Eno Hlaalu was a minute wasted. And he didn’t know how many minutes he had left. Any one of his targets might manage to defend themselves, and honor the sacred writ’s promise of blood by spilling his. Wasn’t it worth a try, to use his time to the fullest?

He entered the storage room and went down the trapdoor. When he turned the corner to go upstairs, there he was. Eno Hlaalu stopped in the hall, and said nothing.

When their eyes met, Rels didn’t look away. 

The longer it went on, the warmer he felt. Memorizing. Existing. Telling. His cheeks warmed first, then his whole face, then lower. He wanted to look away. But he couldn’t. It felt like a mistake. But it couldn’t be. Eno Hlaalu’s face was impassive. Deep lines etched a delicate bone structure. He must have been pretty in his youth, now aged like wine. Heavy-lidded eyes bored into Rels. What had those eyes seen? What did they see now? What did Rels look like to him at this moment? What did he want? What did he know? How long could they stay here, watching? The air was pressing in. This was getting ridiculous. Why didn’t he look away? Why didn’t he say anything? It was past awkward now. Maybe it would never end. Rels couldn’t resist. He looked down to his lips. It was obvious. He didn’t care anymore. Something had changed. If he turned Rels away, so be it. His lips were beautiful. Thin. Picturesque. Serious. Soft. Deadly. 

When Eno Hlaalu kept walking, Rels felt the world end.

It was nighttime again. He’d gone to bed early, but couldn’t sleep. He lay in bed, blanket pulled over his head, trying desperately to remember how he had felt the night before. He’d felt calm, fearless. Ready to face rejection if he had to. But now that it was here, it felt as if the man had stabbed his heart with his glass dagger. Tears trailed into his pillow. It grew cold and wet under his cheek. He only had to outlast the pain, and then he could move on.

As the evening dragged on under the blanket, Rels heard the others come up to bed, one at a time. His own bed was in the corner, directly up the hall from the Grandmaster’s quarters. 

He heard soft footsteps walk past him and go in that direction. There he went.

Eventually, exhausted from misery, Rels drifted into sleep. 

He was woken up by a gloved hand pressing on his mouth in the darkness.


	4. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to LyleSnake and Thanatopsiturvy!

There was pressure on his mouth. He inhaled sharply, finding the scent of leather. His eyes shot open, but there was no difference. It was all black, and a breathing figure was hunched over him. It pulled on his arm, dragging him out of the bed. He kicked his legs, trying to regain balance and roll onto the floor, but instead two firm hands lifted him by the shoulders and up to his feet. What was this? Why wasn’t he bleeding out already? Where were they going? A hand pulled him up the hallway.

This was the Grandmaster. It was his hand. What was he doing? Why were they silent?

Rels was shoved against the wall. The back of his head cracked on it, and he hissed in pain. There was nothing but breathing in front of him now. Two hands had pinned his shoulders to the wall, and now it was still. His chest heaved, his heart was speeding up.

What was going on?

He waited. Tried to calm himself down. But nothing was calm here. It seemed like…

Eno Hlaalu was panting. Doing nothing. Holding Rels here, as though waiting for an answer to a question. Rels recognized his smooth, forceful exhales, and parted his lips as his own breathing grew ragged. He loved the sound. They stood there for a long moment, focused on each other, unable to see. Rels reached up to grip his upper arm, hoping it was all right to do so. He squeezed the muscles gently, taking his chance to feel the shape of it. The muscles were hard—

Lips crashed onto his. One hand moved up to his face, and he was drowning in it. As he gasped for air, a tongue pushed in, giving Rels the taste of his kiss. Their tongues weren’t fighting, just feeling, reaching, yearning, demanding to be closer. Rels pulled their chests together, wanting to melt into him. He wanted to feel skin. There was breath on his face, sharing the hot air between them. This couldn’t be happening. This was impossible. He was dreaming.

Rels ran his hands up his back, feeling the lean muscle under the robe. He didn’t know where his hands should go, there was so much he needed to touch, everything he couldn’t last time. The gloved hand on his face slid up, threading into his hair, and Rels sighed through the kiss. The fingers slipped higher, over his scalp, before resting behind his ear.

He felt teeth bite into his lip. He gasped, and the fingers tugged at his hair as hips ground him into the wall. A small groan escaped him. The pain was sweet. Their kiss grew sloppier as Rels could focus on nothing else but the hard shape digging into his hips. He tried to grind back but had no room to move under the force keeping him pinned there.

Soon, the hips retreated. Rels wanted to pull them back, but the hand on his head pushed him down, and he eagerly fell to his knees. He couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t get the sash open with his clumsy fingers. A few seconds later it fell away, and Rels could push back the robe.

There it was. He never thought he’d get near it again, but here it was in his hand, rock hard and pulsing. He immediately wrapped his mouth around it and went as deep as he could without choking. He remembered these veins, the texture of the skin, had never stopped thinking about it. He’d missed this so much. He would’ve given everything to come back to this, and here they were, all alone, only for each other…

He was so hard it hurt. He reached down to begin stroking himself, finding the perfect rhythm—

It stopped. “No,” Eno Hlaalu whispered. “Don’t touch yourself.”

Rels held back a whimper, letting go. Keeping his left hand on the cock in front of him, he set the other one to wander the nearby hips, now sucking harder in his need. 

The hand on his head clenched, grabbing his hair. Rels, mouth completely full, gasped at the pain. He dug his fingers into the bony hip, and earned a sigh above him. Then he heard it.

“Rels.”

Rels sent a moan into the skin in his mouth, and the hips began thrusting. It was torture not to touch himself. That was his name. It was only for him. It was really happening. He let his fingernails press into the taut skin, and Eno Hlaalu gripped the roots of his hair to force his head up and down in response. Rels was lost, falling, completely consumed, utterly owned. Tiny grunts escaped his throat with almost every thrust, and it was all he could do to keep breathing. 

Eno Hlaalu… Rels belonged to him. One long, rhythmically beaten moan poured from inside him at the thought. The thrusting sped up. Tears formed in his eyes, and his jaw was getting sore. He tightened his grip on the base of the cock, trying to keep himself steady. It pulsed under his fingers, and he knew what was coming. He forced his head forward, enduring the pulling of his hair, and began to suck as hard as he could, pumping with his fist at the same time. This was all for him, and he would make it happen. Warm, bitter cum burst into his mouth, and Eno Hlaalu let out a low groan. The hand flattened on Rels’ head, and they slowed down.

Rels leaned back against the stone wall, breathing through his mouth. The taste was strong even after swallowing, but he knew he would do it again if asked, without hesitation. He moved his hand halfway to himself again before stopping.

“Grandmaster… Please can I touch—“

“No.” He sounded breathless. “Give me your hands.”

Frustration was replaced with giddiness. So it wasn’t over yet. He held out his hands in the dark space between them. He wished he could see as his hands were taken and...bound again. With the sash off the floor. The Grandmaster’s sash was wrapped around his wrists. The ownership. The intimacy.

His mind was still reeling when, out of the darkness, an open hand groped for his face, colliding with his nose. He savored the smooth leather texture as it began to rub over his nose and cheeks. His neck relaxed, lolling along with the gentle massage. The slow movement smothered every thought in his head. Finally, it slid down to his mouth, where the thumb rested on his lower lip. It pressed down, exposing Rels’ bottom teeth.

“Remove it.”

Burning heat spread over him at the command. He took the tip of the glove gingerly between his teeth and pulled. It slid off an inch, and he was offered the index finger. The fine leather yielded under his teeth. He didn’t want to damage it. The other hand carded through his hair as he loosened the glove on each finger, and at the last one the hand slipped out, leaving the glove hanging between his teeth. 

The glove was taken away and the other thumb pressed against his lips. The scent of leather rose into his nostrils as he bit into the top of the thumb and pulled back. Naked fingers tangled into his hair, pulling, exploring. He was glad he hadn’t cut his hair in so long. He would offer up all of it.

When the second glove was off, he was left alone. He could hear a rustle and the slide of a wooden drawer. The faint pop of a cork. Rels knelt there in the dark, breathing heavily. A few seconds later, a hand took his chin and pulled him up. He heaved himself into a standing position, trying to keep his balance with his hands bound. His pants slid down his legs as his knees straightened out.

One hand clasped gently over his mouth, and Rels kissed it desperately. His tongue spilled out onto the smooth palm, beyond resisting. Smoother than he’d expected. Delicious. He could hardly believe he was allowed to do this, to give up any semblance of restraint. The Grandmaster seemed to like it, and he would take any chance to indulge this, even if it debased him. What did it really matter anyway?

He jumped when a cool liquid dripped onto his sore erection. Surely he didn’t need any oil— One tug and it would be all over. He gritted his teeth as one oiled hand smoothed over his skin with feather-light touches, and he tried to focus on his covered mouth instead. Wisps of pleasure spread over his body at the touches. Eno Hlaalu was touching him. This couldn’t be real.

Fingers whispered up and down him, and he rocked his hips forward, trying to get more. A thumb massaged under the base. Then it slid up, with fingertips on top. The thumb rubbed circles under his tip, and Rels squirmed. He was done for, right as it was starting—He’d only just gotten off yesterday, and he couldn’t hold himself in—

The touch disappeared. He tried to squint into the darkness, but even with his eyes adjusted he could only see the barest silhouette in front of him. The palm on his mouth was steady, but he tried to talk through it.

“Grhmhmnr—mm—” The palm pressed down, cutting him off.

“Quiet.” 

The wet hand ghosted over him again, and as he gasped, his mouth was invaded by two fingers. Rels immediately wrapped his tongue around them and sighed. It was too good. Praise Mephala. He didn’t deserve all of this attention.

He finally closed his eyes and surrendered to the torture. The darkness sank into him as everything reduced to these two hands. When he was building up, the hand let go. Sometimes it roamed up his stomach, sometimes down the inside of his thigh. Never letting him finish. Two times, three times, six times… He couldn’t count. It was nothing but fog. The fingers in his mouth slid against his tongue in a smooth rhythm, and Rels let his head bob. Two fingers became three, and eventually four. His lips were stretched now, and he couldn’t stop his chin from getting wet. He was taken, completely gone. Given in to the Grandmaster. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t tell whether he made any noise.

He didn’t know when it was, or how long it took to notice, but it was becoming unbearable. He heard himself whimpering, and his hips were bucking. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t touch, so he did the only thing he could: he bit down.

There was a sharp inhale in front of him, and the hand on his cock tightened into a fist. Rels hissed and began to rut wildly into it, rising fast. He sped towards the cliff and leaped over the edge into white-hot pleasure, pumping his release onto the hand. He rode the wave until it died down, and the hand let go of him.

Still breathing hard, Rels raised his bound hands to find the arm leading to his mouth, but before he found it, it slipped away. His face was empty and exhausted. There was a rustle of cloth. Probably wiping his hand. Rels stood still, half naked and unsure what to do. His mind was swimming, stupid. Did that really happen? What did it mean?

Eno Hlaalu unwrapped his wrists and retied the sash around his own waist. Hands now free, Rels reached out and pulled their faces together in a crushing kiss. His mouth was sore, and his limbs were shaking, but he didn’t want the contact to end already. He needed to feel his long, luxurious hair, taste his breath, smell his skin… He didn’t want to be alone.

After a few seconds, Rels pulled away. He pulled up his pants, feeling a blush rise in his cheeks after his display of selfishness. It was probably time for him to go back to his bed. Let time pass. Begin the wait. What if this was it? What if the Grandmaster had had his fill, and had no further need of him?

Or… An insidious thought occurred to him. What if they were going to do it more, but Rels was the only one who cared? Could he even say no if that was the case?

Heart aching, he let out a whisper, not knowing what he was going to say. “Grandmaster...”

A low voice responded next to his ear, sending hot lava through his gut. “Use my first name when we’re alone.”


	5. The Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to FourCatProductions for betaing this chapter!

Rels opened his bag to find a cloth for his bloody dagger. He was outside of Molag Mar, his face smeared with ashy sweat. This writ had been tricky, but now the rogue Ashlander lay face-down in the dust several feet away. 

Where was that cloth? He’d just washed it the day before… His hand touched something smooth and crinkly. Paper? He pulled it out and unfolded it. It was small, the size of his hand. When he saw Eno’s handwriting, his heart sped up.

“Prepare yourself as for the ceremony. Then find me.”

As for the ceremony. Prepare yourself. Rels chewed on his lower lip as his pants grew tighter. When had he put that note in there?

Rels had been thinking of walking, but now he was taking the silt strider back.

It was late evening when he arrived, and he wasted no time in making sure every inch of himself was clean. He didn’t have the robe, and didn’t want to ask the monk to borrow it, so he crept upstairs and into the room in his clothes. It was nearing midnight, and every candle was dark. 

Rels stood in the pitch black doorway to Eno’s room, listening. His heart pounded. It felt like an intrusion—maybe he had better wait? There was soft breathing. Almost inaudible. But it might have been the faint rushing of the canals through the walls. 

“Eno?” he whispered. Blood still rushed to his face when he said the name. It didn’t seem allowed. If Dral ever found out—

A rustle. A spark of flame, and the candle behind the bed was lit, throwing orange light onto half the room. A stark shadow approached him and took his wrist to guide him toward the light. They stopped beside the bed, and Eno sat down in front of him. His face was obscured by the shadow of his hair. Rels noticed with a thrill that his ponytail was down.

“Strip.” Eno’s voice was husky from sleep. Breath catching in his lungs, Rels pulled off his shirt and pants. He bit his lip and took a small step forward, trying and failing to make out Eno’s features in the shadow. 

Eno hooked his hand behind one of Rels’ knees and pulled it to rest on the edge of the mattress between his legs. Here, fully bared in the orange glow, without a blindfold, he had never felt so naked. He was on full display for the Grandmaster, who took the chance to run his hands over his sides, his chest, then his hips. The hands slipped back and massaged his buttocks, and Rels’ breathed faster in anticipation. Just when he was about to reach for the long hair in front of him, Eno leaned to the side to pick up a small bottle from the floor. After spreading some of the sweet-smelling oil onto his fingers, he placed it back down and began to rub circles around Rels’ entrance, slowly, smoothly.

Rels was painfully hard now. He wanted everything they might do. Trying to keep his patience, he weaved his hands through Eno’s hair, savoring the luxury of it. It was long and thick, cascading over his shoulders and flowing like water through Rels’ roving fingers. It kept him present as one oiled finger pressed into him. His mouth fell open, and he gently gripped the roots of the hair for support. He wanted to abandon his composure, but knew it was better to wait. Another finger slipped in, and Rels began to rock back onto them, staring down at the obscured face level with his chest. 

He wished he could see. He wished they could tangle their limbs together under the covers, kissing deeply, and never come back out. He wanted to be closer. But when Eno stood up and turned him to press his face against the wall, he couldn’t complain.

Rels was collecting a stack of notes. He kept them in his bag, and sometimes when he was out alone, he read them. The first one had been the longest—most were one or two words. Instructions. “Find me.” “Storage.” “Midnight.” “Bring a belt.” He thought back on every meeting they’d preceded. Mephala had certainly heard his prayer, if not quite in the way he’d wanted. When he wasn’t absorbed in Eno’s presence, these notes weren’t enough to replace what he was missing. He could leaf through them for an hour and still not see the message he most wanted to receive. 

It was hard to be grateful.

After breakfast one morning, Rels received a writ for a murderer hiding in a cave near Lake Amaya. It was going to take several hours on foot to arrive, so he packed his bag with more supplies. There was no reason to find a new note today, but he checked anyway. There was none. When he was ready to go, he left the bedroom area and descended the stairs to the main level of the guildhall. 

Dral stopped him on the landing. Rels stepped aside to go around him, but Dral moved to block his path again. His lip was curled in a nasty sneer.

“What do you want, Dral?” 

“What’s that on your neck?”

“There’s nothing on my neck. Let me through.” Nothing he wanted to talk about with Dral, anyway. His face was growing warmer, and he wanted to leave quickly.

Dral scoffed. “Thought I heard you getting bit last night. Seriously, do you two ever stop fucking? Can’t get a wink of sleep around here anymore.”

Rels’ stomach dropped. “I—we—what—“ he sputtered. Sure, he hadn’t told anyone, but nobody had asked, either. Who else had heard them?

Dral gave a bitter laugh. “Oh yeah, don’t think I don’t see you walking funny, making goo-goo eyes at the breakfast table… Yeah. It’s not exactly a secret.”

“...You sound jealous.” It was the only thing he could think to say, with his face on fire and a rock in his gut. He tried to leave again, and was blocked once more.

“Jealous? Of being the Grandmaster’s fucktoy? Not so much.” It was the jealousy talking. Dral was jealous of him, or jealous of Eno, or bitter about sex in general. It wasn’t Rels’ problem. None of it was true. Rels wasn’t being used for sex. Eno did care. They had a bond. There was nothing to worry about. Rels was in love, and Eno… Rels wanted to punch Dral. His knuckles were turning white around the strap of his bag, and his heart was pounding. Dral noticed. “What, you don’t think he actually cares, do you? You’re so pathetic.”

Before Rels could respond, Dral looked past him at something and hurried out of the way. Rels turned around and saw Eno coming down the stairs. His heart was still beating against his throat. How much had he overheard?

Eno stopped on the landing, and gave them a solemn greeting. “Brother Dral. Brother Llethri.” His eyes landed on them in turn, and Rels couldn’t breathe. Was it really true? Were his doubts really right all along? His jaw clenched as he stared back into Eno’s sober gaze, his stomach now flooding with icy fear. Maybe he really was pathetic. Maybe Eno hadn’t known how he felt, and didn’t want to know. Maybe everything was ruined now, all because Rels was wanting too much.

Eno scanned his face for a lingering moment, and left them alone. Rels resisted the temptation to shove Dral, and left for his writ. It was going to be a long day.

Many hours later, he trudged back up the stairs in the guildhall, dropped his heavy bag next to his bed, and pulled off his boots. His feet were sore from walking all day, and his shoulders ached. The cave itself had been easy to locate, but his writ had been well-guarded, surrounded by violent criminals. He’d been forced to kill them too. He didn’t want to think about how long it would take for somebody to discover all the bodies. 

He stretched for a while, then sat down on the bed. Something crinkled under him. It was under the blanket. Another note. A needle shot through his heart as he considered the possibility that it would tell him things were now over. He licked his lips and unfolded it with shaky hands.

“Long were the nights and weary were the days  
Without you by my side.  
The cold winds howled and my thread wavered,  
Hidden but never found.  
In the gloom I prayed for one small chance,  
For one sweet hope—that you would find me there,  
And weave our paths together.”

It didn’t sink in the first time. He read it again, over and over, mind buzzing with the effort to accept what he was seeing as real. There was no mistaking the handwriting. The words sounded like Eno, too: soft, frank, elegant. It was under his blanket, in his bed. Waiting for him to come home. He couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in his eyes, nor the emotion swelling in his chest.

After several minutes, he looked up from the paper, up the hallway. Eno’s room was still lit. Rels was breathing through his mouth, heart fluttering. He’d never felt nervous to go in there before. Not like this. But not going was impossible.

He didn’t want to leave the poem out, so he brought it with him. When he entered, Eno got up from his chair and stood in front of him.

“What did you think of it?”

Rels studied his face. It looked calm, stoic. But Rels knew better. He set the poem on the desk, cupped Eno’s face in his hands, and leaned forward for a long kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left, y'all!


End file.
